


Plants For Company

by TheSleepyOne



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, F/M, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:42:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepyOne/pseuds/TheSleepyOne
Summary: How would you go about setting up a vigilante group to death with local drug dealers?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Reader
Kudos: 11





	Plants For Company

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this ages ago and can barely remember where I got the prompt from. But hey. I haven’t posted in a bit and this wasn’t the worst thing I’ve done this week. Unbeta’d. Also when I say I unbeta’d I mean I found this is one of my notebooks and copied down what I could read out of my crap handwriting.

The briefing room in Mycroft Holmes manor was unlike the one in your family home. Instead of a pristine stainless steel table that stretched across the room with cushioned rolling chairs tucked underneath. There was nothing but the knotted dark oak table, chairs that were more like thrones and cute little plants that you had started naming, that were similar. You had been in his manor before, having named every other plant but you had not yet entered the double doors on the foremost end of the manor. 

Kingston, the potted catnip kept you company as the Holmes brothers, Dr. Watson, Dr. Hooper, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, and your best friend and flatmate, Bert sat at the table with tension so thick, you could cut it with your nails. It was silent, as if everything that needed to be said could be with the look of an eye. Kingston disagreed with that statement, but you would rather not break the silence if not absolutely necessary. 

“So how are you, Molly?” Dr. Watson the ever brave soul broke the silence, but the tension only grew. 

“For being attacked at home, I’m fine, a bit bored,” Dr. Hooper replied, clearly uncomfortable in the older Homles’s brother’s home.

Kingston averted his gaze and you followed suit.

“Just admit it, Grend. You failed! Stayed out with that coffee brewer across town for too long. Two hours and twenty six minutes to be exact.” 

Lestarade shuffled in his seat, guilt pushing his head down.

“Molly was under your care!” Sherlock shouted, a fix of rage boiling over.

“Sherlock, enough,” Mycroft said, exasperated, rubbing his eyes. From the gravel tone of his voice you knew he had lacked sleep. For several days if you heard correctly.

“Oh you shut up, Mycroft! First Mrs. Hudson, then Molly! This is why I should’ve never listened to you.” Sherlock sprung up from his seat, his chair scraping against the floor. 

“I’m surprised he listens to anyone,” Lestarde mumbled to Dr. Watson.

“I’m surprised he came here on his own free will,” Watson replied. 

“If you’d listen, Molly would be at home, but she isn’t is she?” Sherlock blamed, ignoring the two men. 

All eyes except yours and Kingston’s darted towards the noticeable bruises on the doctor’s skin. Molly caved into herself with the attention. Mrs. Hudson whose own bruises had yet to heal rubbed her shoulders gently in that motherly way she’d mastered after being the landlady of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson.

“She would have been safe with me!” 

“She isn’t property, Sherlock. She’s a proud doctor that can make her own choices,” Mycroft tried to reason. 

“Her choices left her hospitalized!” Sherlock raised his voice above everyone else’s. If Kingston had hands he would have covered his ears. If he had those too.

“At least I wasn’t running around with so many drugs in my system that would put an opium den out of business,” Molly spoke in a brisk and stern tone which was out of character for the collected doctor.

“In Sherlock’s defense, he was sober this time. I checked,” John added, looking to his flatmate to confirm. The man in question blinked a reply and the doctor groaned, slamming his head to the table. Mycroft looked at his brother exasperatedly and Sherlock handed him a list.

Mycroft glanced it over, “He’ll live, though I don’t know how long.” Molly and Mrs. Hudson perked up at that. 

“Sherlock-” Molly began, but Mycroft couldn’t hear the rest as you spoke to him in a contrasting calm tone. 

“You know exactly how long he’ll last. And with the way things are now he doesn’t have much time left.” 

“I know,” Mycroft sighed. 

“You knew he was overdosing?” Dr. Watson asked in confusion, the look on his face was like a puppy with fangs sharper than a butcher’s knife. 

Mycroft looked to you once more before speaking, “I didn’t know that he was overdosing, but I knew what he was up to. When Mrs. Hudson’s safety was compromised; Sherlock stopped at nothing to assure her safety.” 

“None of this would have happened if I hadn’t listened to you,” Sherlock seethed, recalling his landlady’s call for help. Her voice would haunt his mind for the weeks to come. Sleep was no longer an option. 

“If Mycroft knew what was going on then shouldn’t we listen to what he has to say?” Lestrade added, speaking above the mumble. 

“No-”

“Yes-”

“He knows nothing,” Sherlock just about shouts, spit flying from his mouth. 

“Think about it Sherlock, first Mrs. Hudson, then Molly. They’re going after people who mean something to you,” Lestarde continued. 

Molly timidly blushed as Mycroft contributed to the detective inspector’s statement, “We both know who they’re after.”

“Dead Mycroft, absolutely and undoubtedly dead,” Sherlock screams almost as convincingly as Mycroft’s Lady Blackwell. Mycroft gave him a look that told as much.

“Are you talking about who I’m thinking we’re talking about?” John asks his mind connecting the dots. 

“No, John, we’re talking about Redbeard, of course we’re talking about her!” John rolled his eyes as a reply.

“W-who are we talking about?” Dr. Hooper asks, looking between the men. Sherlock locked his eyes with Mycroft’s before answering.

“Irene Alder.” 

You and Kingston looked up to Mycroft in question.

“Your brother fell for Irene? I’m not surprised to be trueful, but how do you two know she’s alive?” You asked, Kingston nodding along with you. Mycroft raised an eyebrow but decided against asking. 

“I thought she was killed? You tested her head and everything,” Lesterade said, astonished. 

“Irene’s alive but the organisation is after her as long as Mycroft keeps me here.” 

“How is he keeping you here? Why aren’t you out with Irene right now?” John stares at Sherlock, dumbfounded. 

“Because he knows why he’s here,” Sherlock points at Bert who up to this point no one has noticed or heard from. 

“That is Bert,” Mycroft explains, Bert waves awkwardly. “He has dealt with the group before-”

“This much is obvious Mycroft! But why is he here, what does he matter?! Just look at him, he looks as if he just finished proofing a pot with glaze. Not fighting with a world wide gang!!!” 

“It was a mug, and I didn’t use glaze, just a white wash. My mugs are better than that,” Bert defended his honor. 

“Shut up,” Sherlock yelled, pointing at him again. “Why are you here?” Bert said nothing but looked over to the elder Homles brother. 

“He’s the worst case,” Mycroft explained as if those four words were enough. 

“The worst case? What’s that supposed to mean?” Sherlock spat, shaking with an uncontained anger.

“Their right arm was sent to me last night,” Bert said with melancholy. To his surprise everyone in the room looked to him. 

“I-I was attacked last night,” Dr. Hooper stumbled, cradling her right arm. Mycroft’s eyes softened to yours, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. 

“You said their arm, but as far as I can see, being a doctor and all, Molly still has it,” John directed at Bert who looked to Mycroft for guidance.

“He is referring to Y/N,” Mycroft said with a heavy tone, “They were taken by the same organization that attacked Molly and Mrs. Hudson. Only, pieces of them have come back,” Mycroft finished, his eyes glistening with tears. 

Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, and Molly swallowed at the comment.

“I was sent their eye once word traveled that they were taken,” Mycroft stated, looking over to you and Kingston, who looked to be guilty for whatever reason. 

“I prefer if you see me with an eye and arm. Sort of difficult to carry Kingston when you only have one arm. A prosthetic is fine if you were considering,” you said with ease, as Kingston nodded along, agreeing with being carried with two hands.

“You keep looking at that plant. You see them, don’t you?” John asked, glancing at Kinston with sympathy. 

“I’ve seen them everyday for the past sixteen years.


End file.
